Lupus Rex Read online

  Finally, Ekbeth spoke, this time alone. “I would offer you this as I did to your father and his before. They turned us down. You could be a King of your own right here, Sulari . . . a King for a while. Will you be so wise and brave as to take this offer?” She inspected the visitors, her big bald head jerking from one to another of them in a jagged rhythm. “Will any of you?”

  The whole of the animals quivered and, as one, took a single step back.

  His nose cold and beginning to run, Sulari turned to Cotur Mono, who in turn looked to Rompus. Rompus, who was just getting over his flogging from the day before, shook his head. He would not speak out this time, though surely they were safe from any attack from the vultures.

  “Um, thank you, O great and wise Mother, for your offer,” responded the hare timidly. “We are here as a whole and must surely return to our home as that same whole when we can. We are blessed by your most gracious offer, but we truly miss our home. We must return to it. Surely you will not be offended by our leaving—”

  “Oh, we do understand. None we have asked have joined us immediately. Some do come in time.” The bird motioned a black wing to a corner of the field where a huge old deer lay dazed and still. Sulari had not noticed the animal before. It could not be denied that the deer was very much alive. It scrutinized them, its antlers swaying as it turned in their direction. The deer was fat, and the hare thought it would not move if it could. Then Sulari caught movement just beside the deer and saw, with some shock, a grayed coyote basking lazily only a few feet from the antlered buck. The coyote was gnawing on the bone of some unidentified animal, and though the deer was easily within a jump’s distance, neither animal seemed interested in the least at the other’s presence. Sulari now understood. Some animals came here when they could no longer gather food or fend for themselves. They came here to let the vultures care for and feed them until they died. Care for them in exchange for . . . what?

  “Oh, great Mother!” called Sulari. “We will keep your offer in our hearts, all of us, I am sure, but for now we beg you to allow our group temporary refuge here within the safety of your field.”

  The old bird of carrion gapped her beak in her peculiar way of smiling. “Yes, you may stay. And you may leave at your own will. And whenever you do return, in whatever capacity that may be, you will be greeted with fervent stomach.”

  “Thank you, O wise Mother,” said Sulari as he considered Rompus. The badger was quivering ever so slightly. His old friend looked back at him, trying to smile.

  Chapter Five

  The Grandfather’s Command

  BANKA BORE DOWN upon the old quail staring up at him in defiance. At the last moment before he crashed into Incanta, the crow seized up his wings and came to a furious stop. Planting his feet inches from the quail, the bigger bird pounded his wings.

  “You are forbidden here in this time!” cried Banka. “For this you must die, bird! You are not allowed!”

  Incanta rose to her tallest and glared into the eyes of the bloody crow. “You are a coward and a murderer, Banka, a bastard and a child of none! As I die within your beak, so will my bravery live on. As you kill these babes, so will your cowardice be forever consummated! You will kill us with no good gain.” She did not waver to either side at all, only glared up at the crow in insolence.

  It was then that Anur hopped and awkwardly tried to make flight. He took off clumsily and was loud in his desperate departure. Banka took after him and in mere seconds had the small bird on the ground.

  “No!” cried Incanta.

  The chick cried out in fear and pain as the crow drove its claws into its soft, feathered flesh. Banka, perched above his catch, only glowered at the elder bird.

  “Do not hurt the little one!” she cried.

  Incanta, who could not fly at all, ran over to Banka with all the speed she could muster. She had momentarily forgotten Erdic, who, though he surely could have flown to safety in the bedlam, lay still as death upon a blanket of freshly fallen leaves.

  Incanta attacked Banka with what fury she could muster, jumping at him, pecking and screeching. From within the brush, not far away, Ysil could hear the crow begin to laugh.

  It was then that Cotur Ada made his decision. He turned to the younger quail.

  “You must flee, young ones,” he said firmly. “You must away to beyond the river. I must try what I can to save the babes and the elder.”

  Ysil was confused and scared. “Beyond the river? What do you mean, Grandfather?”

  “You must carry a plea to the hawk Pitrin. Take the path of which I told you. Speak my name to him. I pray it saves you from his claws. Tell him his father begs him return to the field to bring order.” Ysil’s confusion grew. Father? “I fear a great war is upon us, children. I feel there are far darker things at work here than just a rascal prince, a thing far more dangerous. You must convince him not to harm you. Bring with you this.” And with that Cotur turned back his head and pulled out a long tail feather with his beak, then laid it down before Ysil.

  “Beg him come, Ysil, Monroth. Ysil, you must carry the feather. Tuck it within your breast to keep it safe. Be vigilantly watchful after you cross the river. He could take you easily, and I pray he does not before he sees the feather. This token will be your only safeguard. You must trust me when I tell you he will not harm you when you show him my feather. I regret it is to the two of you that I must pass this order, but, alas, fate has handed this to you. Hear your command. You must follow.” With that Cotur Ada slowly and carefully moved away from the two.

  “Of course, I can handle anything, Cotur Ada,” said Monroth with a burst of sudden pride, “but you speak nonsense. You are no father to any hawk.” Ysil felt Monroth’s former statement to be only more boasting, but he kept this to himself. Monroth’s latter statement he was in agreement with. He knew his cousin bird was as frightened by the notion of actually seeking out a hawk as he was, maybe even more so. What could Cotur Ada mean saying such a thing: a quail the father of a hawk?

  “There is no time for your questions. Follow my order.” Then he rustled even farther away. He looked back only once more. “Be still, my children. Be still until the dark has fallen. You may find friends in unexpected places and with unexpected faces . . . so take care whom you trust . . . and whom you do not!” And Cotur Ada, the eldest of the quail, took to the air and straight toward the laughter of Banka and the screaming of Incanta and the chick.

  WHEN HE HAD been very young Cotur Ada had gotten into a fight with a certain young crow. He had been at the field’s edge with his father, Vanda, and his brothers eating the grain of the season’s harvest. The man had raked the field two days previous, and the moon was waning toward dark. The animals had already stored away, but the field still held great bounty. Ada knew that this was the time of best gathering, and his father made sure the chicks did not miss a bite that was available. The winter months were hard, and they needed to fatten up in preparation. Young Ada was contentedly busy with his eating. He did not notice that around him all had grown quiet, nor did he see the reason for their silence. It was Banka’s presence that had silenced the group.

  Ada was bashed upon the head and knocked to the ground. He tumbled in pain. “You are all to leave the field now!” commanded Banka. When he had approached, Ada’s father evidently had been too far away to notice the intrusion of the crow. The rest had watched in fearful silence as the much larger crow had approached the unknowing Ada.

  “Why did you do that?” Ada had cried.

  “You quail are always sneaky!” young Banka had called. “You think this field is yours, but you’re wrong! This is the crows’ field! And we answer to no one!”

  “Ada is my son,” Cotur Vanda had said, moving in swiftly beside the wounded chick. “He is too young for your thrashing. Take this up with me instead.” The brave quail had stepped straight up and faced Banka, their beaks nearly touching.

  Sadly, Banka had taken it up with Vanda. He flogged Ada’s father with his wings
and screamed malicious caws until the blood turned Vanda’s gray feathers to a dusty red.

  Looking back through the seasons, Cotur Ada knew that his father had never really recovered from that beating. The young and angry crow had broken two of Vanda’s toes and they had healed badly. One day Vanda had been gathering blueberries with two of Ada’s brothers. An old and desperately hungry fox had attacked. Vanda had flushed up with the younger quail but had taken off badly. The fox took him down, its eyes gone a dull gray with age and the lust for blood. Cotur Ada always wondered if his father had been just a little slower because of his broken toes.

  He was careful not to fly too high, hoping not to be seen by the other crows, whose desperate fray was only beginning to abate. He had an idea, and though it was a dire measure, certainly for him and perhaps for all, he felt it the only chance to save the chicks. It was a measure that would work only if Banka proved to be the fool he thought him to be. He flew in and landed close to Banka and the quail, who were locked in a sort of one-sided tussle, with the large crow holding down the chick while the elder tried her best to get him off. “Stand down, Grandmother!” Cotur Ada cried when he landed.

  Banka stared back in surprise, as did Incanta. She fell back from the crow, exhausted and bleeding from the beak, the injury likely from her own efforts. There was no sign the crow had attacked her, nor for that matter was there a mark on his black body either.

  “Ah!” roared Banka. “So there are to be four to die! How many more quail are hidden in the brush? This is an insult from quail to the order of crows! Your blood will be shared by many today!”

  “You have found a treasure here, O wise crow,” said Cotur Ada, “and you don’t even know it yet. Our placement here may be an offense to the crows, but on consideration you may find a benefit. You may suffer a boon for your own rite. You have the mother of many and the grandmother of innumerable at your hand. And I will speak for her. She will make you an offer.” Incanta glared at Cotur Ada. Uncertainty was upon her face, but she said nothing. She lay prone, the rage still dancing in her eyes.

  “What nonsense is this you are speaking, little bird?” Banka questioned.

  “Ah, it is not nonsense in the least. You must know that to a quail the life of the chick is much more valuable than the life of the egg—the delicious egg.” Cotur Ada said this last thing with a raised emphasis. “Between myself and the grandmother here, we know the whereabouts of at least two dozen hidden nests. These are secrets kept from the mink, the muskrats, the rats, and, of course, the crows.”

  A light of interest appeared in Banka’s eye. “What would you offer that I may not demand?” he said, blood beginning to dry on his beak.

  Cotur Ada looked to Incanta for some support. She granted none but kept her silence.

  “What I offer you is a season’s eggs in exchange for the lives of these chicks and the elder. Not only that, but I offer you my blood also.”

  Banka’s eyes grew wide, a new hunger mingling with bloodlust. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do believe we can make this trade.”

  From their hiding place in the brush, Ysil and Monroth heard these words. They heard, and the vast fear that had been clouding their breath consumed them even more.

  They listened as Cotur Ada told Banka where to find the eggs, the hidden precious nests. But his words were vague, and Banka, so sure of himself, did not question. Ysil wondered if the crow could find the nests even if Cotur Ada told him the exact location. And so it was that Banka did prove his ignorance, for this time of year, there were no eggs in the nests at all.

  The cawing sounds of battle continued to dissipate. Then, from far away, he heard the cawing crows on approach. Ysil knew that voice. The General was returning.

  HIGH ABOVE THE field, a vee of geese soared. The leader had flown this particular route all his life and was nearing his turn to move back to the rear of the vee. He knew it would be dark before his turn would come again at lead, and surely he would also begin the next morning behind. He was looking for a place to land and take rest and find food before his turn was past, as he knew that the next in line was young and might choose a lesser option. Geese do not follow any but the leader, and, likewise, the leader of any vee would change many times during the day. None behind ever questioned the leader. He knew they were nearing a field where a murder of crows resided and many animals about it. He also knew that the man who farmed the field would have likely reaped by now and that there should be grain for the taking. He saw the field below and began to descend.

  As it came closer into sight, the bird gasped and honked. Scattered about the field were many dead forms of sizable black birds. There had been a great battle here. He counted some nine dead and a good few writhing in pain. The geese flew low enough to smell the blood of battle, so even though they also smelled fresh grain, they veered away from the field and took off in pursuit of the heights. And as they flew upward, a small dove flew to the leader of the flock and came close to his ear. The dove whispered of much that had befallen the field and those who dwelled within it. Then the dove banked away, staying high above the chaos below.

  The leader goose decided that resting in this particular area was ill-thought. They would fly as far away to the south as they could while the time in lead was his.

  The geese soared higher, passing the news from one to another. Three dark birds passed far beneath, flying just above the treetops.

  FRAGIT LANDED IN the field at a high speed, barely slowing when he touched ground and continuing his run straight to the side of Nascus and Ophrei. Fragit’s third in command, a huge bird with dark and vicious eyes and a long cut across his chest, landed as Fragit did and approached the bequeathed and the rook. Fragit was covered in blood from tip of beak to filthy feet.

  “Many of the traitors turned and faced our attack when we were scarce out of earshot. If not for the strength of my band, I surely would have been overtaken.” Much of the blood on Fragit was from the traitor crows, but not all. “Some six of the traitors are yet to be accounted for, as I see four dead on this field. We killed four within the forest, but oh, ours is the greater loss! Five of my guard lay dead within the woods and five dead here. Only the three of us remain. But shame! Banka is not accounted for at all! I was hoping to see him here.” He turned to Nascus. “Prince, these are dire times. You and your own must now join ranks with us.” The prince nodded. “Some of us must guard the field and, first, you, my prince, while I must away with a number to seek your turncoat brother.”

  Fragit stood tall and scanned the field. “Order to all! Order to all! Reform circle!”

  It took a few minutes as the wounded rose and spread out, but when all those able to stand were back in circle, it was clear the impact of the treacherous revolt. All counted, there were ten of the guard dead, two crows from the general army and eight traitors. Twenty from a murder of fifty-nine. With the six conspirators escaped, only thirty crows gathered in a vague circle.

  “Traitorous quail!” called Ophrei, pointing to the woods. “All this blood, and still we are forced to spill more!”

  All eyes turned to follow the rook’s gaze. Staggering out of the brush was Cotur Ada, the eldest of the quail, with Banka of the guard close behind. He walked purposefully and upright toward Ophrei, a clear conviction branded in his eyes. He showed not an ounce of fear.

  Chapter Six

  Watchers and Eavesdroppers

  YSIL FOLLOWED HIS grandfather’s command to remain still, more out of fear and self-preservation than for the sake of respect. He watched while Cotur Ada made his offer to the crow Banka and heard with dread. He knew that even if the crow were to take the offer from his grandfather, it would surely mean the death of the elder quail. When Banka had agreed, Cotur Ada urged the babes to go with the elder Incanta and never look back. Through all this, Incanta did not speak one word. Only upon departure did she look back to Cotur Ada.

  Before disappearing down a quail’s trail hidden beneath a trestle of cloaked panic-grass a
nd bull thistle, with a voice feeble but definite, she spoke: “You may very well command the ear of the King-in-waiting with your last words, likewise the sorcerer and also the General. What will you do with your tongue, old bird?” With that she ushered the chicks into the brush and disappeared. She was nearly blind, but she knew the trail by heart. Ysil said a prayer she would find her way, for the day was wearing on and the dark would soon come. He prayed them safe haven through the night.

  Monroth and Ysil lay as still as possible, watching and trying to hear what Cotur Ada and Banka were saying, but they could make out none of it, for now they spoke in hushed tones. Then the crow pressed the quail through the brush at the edge of the field and then into it. Ysil and Monroth watched helplessly as Cotur Ada walked to the murder and to his fate. Behind him walked Banka, needing to do little to urge him on.

  GOMOR WAS BORED. The day in the Vulture Field was hot and the wind was still. And besides that, it was creepy and strange here. He much preferred his home den. Adventure was exciting and all, but home was home and that was that. He wished he had been asked to go with Ysil and Monroth. He considered them upon a true quest, albeit dangerous.

  He decided to go over and get a better look at the deer and coyote resting on the far side of the field. After some coaxing, Cormo had gone with him and, more easily, Harlequin. It was of no worry to be near the deer, but the coyote was different.

  “It must be safe if the deer is just lying there unconcerned with the closeness of the predator,” said Harlequin.

  So, taking to a tight group, and edging inch by inch closer to the coyote, their eyes locked on his, the three came within speaking distance of the adopted residents. Both animals considered them, flicking the ever-present early fall flies with their tails, the deer chewing the cud and the coyote a bone. Neither animal granted the arrival of two young quail and a rabbit much notice. It was Cormo who spoke first.